Auld Lang Syne
by lucindadixon
Summary: Lexie Grey left Seattle five years ago following her break-up with Mark Sloan. Now she's coming home for Christmas. AU following 6x11. Mark/Lexie
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks to my friend jesmel for the beta work!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mark, Lexie, or any other fictional doctors.**

**Auld Lang Syne**

Malls are malls, no matter where you go, particularly near Christmas with the bright lights, throngs of people, and piped in holiday music playing at a volume that's just a little too loud. It's exhilarating and exhausting all at the same time. Mainly exhausting though, Lexie Gray thinks as she slows down to examine the handbags on display in the Coach window. Especially when you've just come off a five hour plane ride, which was preceded by a double shift, and you haven't even started your Christmas shopping yet because you didn't want to have to buy everyone gifts small enough to fit in your carry-on bag.

She takes a couple of steps into the accessories store before reconsidering and backing out again, the thought of fighting through the crush of people in the store making her a little short of breath. Loosening her stripy wool scarf as she turns around, she decides maybe a shopping list would be a good idea and she goes off in search of a place to sit down, just for a minute while she gathers her bearings.

This particular mall is a made up of a veritable maze of corridors and escalators, all converging on a centre atrium with a fountain and a skylight and a kiosk selling overpriced beverages and oversized pastries. Lexie purchases a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and crushed candy cane bits and scans the crowded seating area for somewhere to rest her weary bones. Oh, and make a list. Right.

Just past the far end of the seating area her eyes alight on Santa Claus sitting on a big red throne next to a plastic Christmas tree adorned with flashing red and green lights. A teenage girl dressed as an elf is escorting children to his lap while a man sporting reindeer antlers snaps pictures with a Polaroid camera supported by a rickety looking tripod. A little boy of about five is shaking his curly brown head at the elf girl, finger firmly inserted in his mouth. She crouches down, whispers something in his ear and then extends a hand to him. Seemingly convinced, he takes her hand and allows himself to be led him over to Santa. Lexie grins and makes her way over to a small vacant table for two just off to the side of Santa's throne.

Depositing a bag containing the one present she's managed to buy thus far (a sweater for Derek, selected based on detailed instructions from Meredith) on the floor beside the table, she sinks gratefully into the chair. Lifting her cup of hot chocolate to her mouth, she inhales deeply from the sweet minty chocolate aroma before taking a careful sip. Upon ascertaining it's cool enough to not burn her mouth, she takes a bigger sip followed by what could only be described as a gulp. It's delicious, possibly the best hot chocolate she's ever tasted and she has tasted one heck of a lot of hot chocolate in her thirty years on this earth. She very nearly moans aloud from the pleasure of it all.

And that's when she sees him.

He's seated just one table over, dressed in his familiar battered black leather jacket with his grey-brown hair curling over his collar. He is focused on watching Santa with far more intensity than makes sense to her. The hot chocolate turns to liquid cement in her throat and she begins to cough and sputter, attracting the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. His head whips around.

"Lexie?" he asks, incredulous. Tears are streaming from her eyes and she manages to nod while she continues to cough. "Are you okay?" He looks stunned. Feeling pretty stunned herself, she holds up one finger and then takes a couple more sips of her drink until her coughing subsides.

"Mark," she says when she's pulled herself back together. "Um. Hi. How are you?"

"All right," he says, rising, taking two steps and then sliding into the vacant seat across from her. He hands her a tissue he seems to have pulled out of thin air. "What are you doing here?"

"Sh..shopping," she stutters, her throat still threatening to erupt into another coughing fit at the slightest of provocations. "Christmas shopping." She dabs the tissue at her teary eyes.

"Obviously." He's not even looking at her anymore; his gaze is back on Santa. "But I meant here in Seattle."

"Oh." Of course he did. "I'm, ah. I'm staying with Meredith. And Derek. I'm staying with Meredith and Derek. For the holidays," she clarifies.

"The holidays," he repeats, turning his head to meet her eyes. "You'll be there for Christmas dinner," he says, and it's not so much a question as a statement and he doesn't seem to be addressing it to her so much as himself. She tries not to squirm under the intensity of his stare. Tries, and fails miserably because the look he's subjecting her to wouldn't be out of place coming from a witness examining suspects in a police line-up. She feels like she should apologize for something, but she's not sure for what. Disturbing his afternoon by her very existence perhaps? She picks up her hot chocolate and takes another sip.

Well he's not the only one disturbed. It's been five years since she last saw him. Five years of surgeries and rounds and dates and boyfriends and breakups and laughter and tears. Five years of growing up and five years of convincing herself that she was over him. She knew she would most likely see him on this trip, he's her brother-in-law's best friend after all, but she had honestly thought it would be fine. They were only together for a year – barely any time at all. And it was so, so, long ago and really, she was a completely different person now. A person with a full life and a great career and even a nice guy who, given a couple more good dates, might possibly turn into her boyfriend. She had really thought it would be fine.

Yeah. She knows now how wrong she was.

It's not fine. _She _is _not_ fine. God, not even a little bit. What she is, is freaked the hell out. She should get up, right now, and go back to the airport and fly straight back home to Boston where it's safe. Meredith would just have to understand. She just can't be here; she can't even _breathe_ around him. She pulls at her the scarf around her neck until it's hanging loosely around her shoulders.

A little voice shouting, "Grampie! Grampie!" startles her out of her internal drama. The reluctant little boy with the brown curls she'd noticed earlier comes racing over, waving a Polaroid photo, and launching himself at Mark. "Santa's going to bring me a _fire truck_!"

Mark is slow to react, but when he does, his face splits into a broad grin. "Good to know, sport. Good to know," he says as he scoops the boy up onto his knee. Only then do the pieces fall into place for her. She can't believe it took her this long to clue in because, side by side, the resemblance is really quite remarkable.

"Your grandson," she says quietly. "He's beautiful."

Mark nods his acknowledgement. "I think so."

"So Sloan is..." she begins, looking around to see if she can spot Mark's daughter anywhere in the vicinity.

He shrugs. "Not here," is all he says and something about the stony look on his face makes her think better of pursuing that particular topic of conversation any further.

She notices the little boy watching at her from his spot on Mark's lap. "Hi there," she says to him. "What's your name?"

He looks uncertainly at his grandfather, who nods and says, "Tell the lady your name, sport."

"Samuel Sloan Riley," the boy recites at breakneck speed.

Mark ruffles his hair and adds for Lexie's benefit, "Sammy. His name is Sammy."

"It's nice to meet you, Sammy. I'm Lexie."

The boy smiles shyly at her for a second before turning back to Mark. "Grampie, can we go home now?"

Mark is silent for a moment. Lexie watches him guardedly, hoping he acquiesces to the boy's wishes and leaves her alone so she can start breathing again. _Yes, _that's_ what you hope_, a small voice chides. _Self-deception, thy name is Lexie_.

Long seconds pass in silence until Sammy pipes up again, tugging on Mark's arm. "Grampieeeee, come on, I'm _hungry_!"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess we'd better be heading home." He sounds almost...disappointed? That can't be right. She looks down at the table as he stands up, not wanting to watch him walk away.

"Lex." His voice comes from above her. She looks up to find him examining her again, but this time his expression looks much less police witness-y and more like a man looking at a woman. "You look good."

"Oh." She blushes the colour of Santa's sleigh. "Um. Thanks. So do you." And he does too. Damn it. This would be easier if he'd gotten fat or lost all his hair.

"So, I guess I'll see you at the Shepherds' for Christmas?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll be there." She smiles tentatively at him, and when he returns it with his patented Mark Sloan Sex God grin, that's when she knows she's in trouble. Serious. Freaking. Trouble.

It takes her another fifteen minutes to finish her hot chocolate, eat the honey dipped cruller she buys to settle her nerves and put together a shopping list. There are an awful lot of gift cards on the list and she hopes her friends and family are subscribers to the 'it's the thought that counts' school of gifting because she really, _really_ needs to get out of there. Meredith had better have a bottle of tequila stashed somewhere in the house.

When she rises and leans down to pick up her purse and shopping bag, she makes a discovery. Face down on the floor under the table is a Polaroid photo of a curly haired boy with a shy smile sitting on Santa's knee. After pausing to add one more name to the bottom of her list, she slips the abandoned Polaroid into her purse and heads back down the hall into the madness that is the mall on the twenty-third of December.


	2. Chapter 2

She arrives at Meredith and Derek's remote forest home just after the sun disappears below the horizon. The air is crisp, but there is no wind to speak of, and the sky is full of stars surrounding a bright crescent moon. It's a sight she loves but one she rarely gets to witness in Boston. The stars never fail to remind her that she is but a tiny speck in the vast universe. Some might find that thought disconcerting, but to her, it's always been a comfort. It makes her problems seem smaller, more manageable somehow.

The taxi pulls away and leaves her standing in the driveway, her shopping bags littering the ground at her feet. They're heavy, she'd had more luck with finding gifts than she'd anticipated, and she's tempted to leave them where they are for now. Instead she gathers them up and starts up the driveway to the house. She's glad her sister and Derek finally made the move, for them, yes, but also for her. That old house of Meredith's just held too many memories. The new one is a variation on the Cape Cod style with a large covered front porch spanning its entire facade. She can't quite determine its colour scheme in the moonlight, but it's light, white or grey maybe, with dark shutters and stone accents. The windows on the main floor emit a soft yellow light.

Climbing the two steps to the porch, she bypasses the front door and approaches an old-fashioned white-washed wooden porch swing sitting off to the left in front of one of the large lit windows. _This is Derek_, she thinks, dropping her bags and giving it a little push to set it to swaying. The old swing groans and creaks from the effort. She reaches out and stops it long enough to turn around and settle into it. Then she pushes off with her feet to start it rocking again. The breeze cools her face as she coaxes the old swing into moving just a little bit faster and the rocking motion leaves her heart feeling just a little bit lighter. _No_, she revises, _this is Meredith_.

Several pot lights flare to life above her head and the front door opens. Lexie looks over in time to watch the screen door bang shut behind her older sister.

"Lexie? What are you doing out here in the cold? Oh sweetie, you were supposed to call when you were done shopping. I would have picked you up!" Meredith, dressed too lightly for the cool night air in jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and fluffy bedroom slippers, shivers and rubs her arms as she walks across the porch to stand in front of her sister. "Don't just sit there rocking. It's freezing out here, come in the house."

Lexie stands, but doesn't move any further. At her sister's questioning look, she burst into tears. "I saw Mark, Mer. At the mall. With his grandson. I saw Mark."

* * *

The pit is a flurry of activity when Mark Sloan enters through the ambulance bay doors. "Where's Shepherd?" he demands of a passing nurse. The harried looking woman points him in the direction of Trauma Room One before skittering off.

He finds Derek examining an unconscious young guy who looks to have more blood on the outside of his body than on the inside. "Hey!" he shouts at Derek, sticking with his purpose and shaking off the urge to help control the bleeding. "What the fuck is up with not warning a guy that he was going to be sitting across the table from the former love of his life at goddamned Christmas dinner?"

If the other man is surprised by the outburst, he doesn't show it. He doesn't even look up from his task. "Not the time, Mark. I need more light," he requests of no one in particular. A male intern whose name Mark hasn't bothered to learn reaches up to adjust the overhead light.

"So when is the right time?" he demands. "Were you going to tell me at all, or was I going to find out when I turned to pass the potatoes to the person on my left and discovered that person was Lexie? Was that the plan, Shepherd?"

"Don't be silly. Of course we weren't going to seat you beside each other. That would be gauche. Move the light little more to the left, please."

Mark continues to glare at him until Derek finally glances up. "We'll discuss this later. Now, kindly get the hell out of my trauma room." Derek turns to the intern assisting him. "Book an OR. We've got to relieve the pressure on this guy's brain."

Mark stalks from the room.

* * *

Lexie slams the empty shot glass on the coffee table, winces, shudders and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Feel better now?" Meredith asks, twisting her own full shot glass around with thumb and index finger before downing it with significantly less fanfare.

Lexie coughs and then takes a deep steadying breath. She'll never be half the man Meredith is when it comes to tequila shooting. "Yeah. I guess so. It was just a shock, you know? Seeing him again after all these years."

"Looks good, doesn't he?"

Lexie stares at her sister for a second before bursting into laughter. "Yeah," she admits. "Yeah, he does. Damn it."

"I can imagine your surprise at seeing him at Santa's Corner. Very un-McSteamy-like," Meredith remarks. "But it's partly your own fault, you know."

"How do you figure _that_?" Lexie demands.

"Well, if you hadn't forbidden me from speaking his name, you would have known Sloan had taken off and left Sammy with Mark. So that part, at least, wouldn't have been a surprise."

She had a point; Lexie was forced to admit, if only to herself. She had made it quite clear to Meredith and everyone else she'd kept in touch with from Seattle Grace, that news of Mark Sloan was not anything she wanted to hear. (Everyone else being, well, Derek. And Cristina once, but only because she'd answered Meredith's phone.) She'd been protecting herself, she thought, from hearing about him with other women. She's embarrassed to admit she'd scarcely given Sloan Riley and her baby a second thought.

"How long ago did she leave?"

"Years ago, Lex. Sammy was just a baby. She hasn't been back since. I'm not sure Mark even knows where she's at this point. He doesn't talk about her."

At one time, right after it happened, Lexie would have said Sloan and Sammy were the reason she and Mark didn't work out. That Mark chose them over her and that's why she left Seattle behind and moved back to Boston. But time and distance has given her enough perspective to realize that it was actually her own immaturity that spelled the death of their relationship. And that that was not necessarily a bad thing. She'd been only twenty-five years old. Twenty-five year olds are allowed to be immature and if it hadn't been Sloan and the baby, it would have been something else. She just hadn't been ready for the kind of relationship Mark needed at the time.

She knows all this and she'd made her peace with it long ago. But it didn't stop all the what-ifs from crowding into her brain.

She picks up the bottle of tequila and pours herself another shot.

* * *

From his spot beside the window, Mark tosses wadded up prescription forms at the wastebasket he's placed on the sofa in Derek's office. There are more littering the sofa and the floor than there are in the basket, and he's blaming his poor aim on Derek. How the hell could he not have given him some warning? Jesus H. Christ, what kind of a friend is that?

Lexie Grey. Back. Hot as ever. Hotter, even. _Fuck me_, he thinks. _This is bad._

The old Mark Sloan would have thrown caution to the wind and would probably have had her in bed within a couple of hours of running into her. _Exorcising demons_, he would have called it. _Getting her out of my system. _What it really would have been was a study in masochism. Let's see how much torture we can take before we break ourselves in two.

It took more time than he cares to remember to forget about her. (_Like you ever forgot_, flicks through his consciousness, but he ignores it.) More time, and more women than he cares to remember, back when he still had the time and energy to sleep around. Back before snakes and snails and puppy dog tails had taken over his life. But eventually, he'd gotten the taste of her out of his mouth, the sound of her out of his ears, the image of her out of his brain, the feel of her off his hands. But it's a tenuous peace that he's found; it wouldn't take much to shatter it. She's not staying. Even if they could manage to get back a small piece of what they had, she has a new life now. She's not staying. That's what it comes down to. The old him wouldn't have cared. The new Mark Sloan has to. He has more than himself to consider and he has no time for exorcisms.

The door opens, admitting a tired looking Derek Shepherd. He nods to Mark and walks over to his desk.

"Derek," Mark says. "What am I going to do?"

Derek takes his time before answering, pulling his chair out from his desk and sitting down. "You're going to have Christmas dinner. You're going to make small talk, maybe reminisce a bit, catch up on what she's been doing with her life. You're going to enjoy the holidays with your friends and family. Then you're going to go home. And so is she. That's what you're going to do." He pulls his laptop towards him, flips it open, and begins typing.

It sounds like a reasonable plan.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone reviewing, I really appreciate your comments.**

Lexie awakens Christmas Eve morning a little hungover from the tequila, but otherwise feeling much better about having come. Yes, discovering she wasn't quite as over Mark Sloan as she had thought was startling, to say the least, but she could handle it. After all, she only has to spend a few hours in the same room with him and it's not like they'll be alone. The place will be jam packed with Meredith's usual collection of friends, colleagues and other assorted strays, including many people she knows from when she was one of those strays herself.

As she pushes back the covers and climbs out of bed, she tries not to think about what it means that her first coherent thought of the morning was about him.

After showering, dressing, and tooth brushing, she decides to make her way downstairs to the kitchen. She'd been so tired and distracted the previous night she hadn't really paid much attention to her surroundings, but now she proceeds slowly, poking her head into open doors, taking in the details of the home her sister and Derek have made for themselves. The upper level has four bedrooms: the master suite, its door closed at the moment; the guest suite she is currently occupying; and two other, smaller rooms. One of the rooms has been outfitted as a nursery. It's been that way, Lexie knows, since they moved in nearly three years ago. She pauses just inside the threshold and makes a wish that the colourful little room will have an occupant soon.

She continues to the wide staircase that leads down into the big open concept living area. The large modern kitchen is to the left of the stairs and that's where she heads first, craving hot black coffee. When she sees the all the shiny stainless steel, she recalls Meredith good-naturedly complaining to her on the phone about the state of the art kitchen appliances Derek had picked out. "Neither of us have time to cook, Lex!" her sister had laughed. "And I think I'm a reasonably intelligent person, but I can't even figure out how to work the coffee maker!"

Luckily for Lexie, Meredith seems to have learned eventually as there is a pot of hot coffee waiting for her, and a note left under a mug explaining that she had been called into work, and Derek was sleeping after having worked all night. Lexie would be on her own until mid afternoon at least.

She's disappointed; she'd been hoping to spend the day with Meredith, baking, wrapping gifts and preparing for the following day's celebrations. At loose ends, she takes her cup of coffee and wanders from the kitchen area to the living room. She stands in front of the large picture window and looks out over the property. It had snowed sometime last night; a light dusting of powder that made everything look sparkly, like it had been sprinkled with fairy dust.

Wait. Fairy dust?

Seriously?

Seems she may be still a little drunk. She takes a gulp of her coffee, sets it down on a side table and goes back to the kitchen to scrounge up something to soak up any tequila that remains lurking in her bloodstream.

* * *

Lexie spends her day wrapping presents and calling Meredith to enquire as to the location of various items she needs to bake cookies. Meredith, of course, has no idea whether she even has baking powder, but gives her blessing for Lexie to search through her cupboards.

It's early evening before Derek finally gets up, just as Lexie is about to go stir crazy. When she says as much, he admonishes her for not taking his car and going into town.

"To do what?" she asks. "Everyone I know here was either working or sleeping and believe me; I had enough of shopping yesterday."

"Fair enough," Derek replies. "But I'm up now and Meredith should be off soon. How do you feel about Joe's?"

* * *

"Joe's?" Mark suggests as he and his companion exit the main hospital doors. Though it's not quite six in the evening, it's already as dark as midnight and the wind is starting to pick up, blowing around the light snow Seattle had received the previous night. He should probably just go home, but his empty house is sounding more unappealing by the moment.

"You want to go to Joe's?" Callie Torres asks, stopping in surprise. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Mark Sloan?"

He shrugs. "Joanna took Sammy to her family's Christmas Eve party. He likes to play with her grandsons. She's not bringing him home for a couple more hours, so there's no reason for me to go home yet." And mope around thinking about Lexie, he adds silently.

"Mark, I hope you pay that woman well. She puts Mary Poppins to shame."

She does and he does. He knows how lucky he was to find Joanna, a retired paediatric nurse, when he needed a nanny for Sammy after Sloan took off. The older woman has become a part of his family.

"Yeah, yeah. So...Joes?"

"Joes," Callie agrees. "You're buying."

* * *

Lexie is hesitant as she enters The Emerald City bar. While she left Seattle Grace on good terms with everyone but Mark, she didn't really keep in touch with anyone other than her family and for reasons she can't quite put a finger on, she's nervous about running into people she used to work with. She shouldn't care what people she no longer knows think about how she's turned out, but she does.

The place looks much like it did the last time she was there. The paint on the walls might be a slightly different shade, or maybe that's just the effect of the Christmas lights strung up over doorways and along the bar. The bar stools are definitely new. Her eyes start to prickle a bit as the Periodic Table of Elements flashes through her mind so she blinks purposefully and looks away, scanning the room for her sister.

Derek touches her elbow and points to a table at the back of the room. "There's Meredith."

Glad to see a familiar face, Lexie walks over to join her at her table while Derek pauses at the bar to order drinks. "Hey," she says, falling into a chair.

"Hey," Meredith replies, looking up from the magazine she'd been paging through. "How did the cookies turn out?"

"Oh, I burned them," she replies, suddenly cheerful. "But Derek stopped at the bakery on the way here and we bought all kinds of good stuff." She pulls a plastic wrapped gingerbread man from her coat pocket and passes it to Meredith.

Meredith laughs and accepts the treat. "I love you. My waistline hates you, but I lo... Oh. Uh oh." She trails off, attention captured by something across the room.

"What's wrong?" Lexie asks, looking around. "Oh," she repeats a second later, her question answered. Her heartbeat speeds up and in her stomach, butterflies break free of their cocoons and start fluttering around. Mark Sloan is just entering the bar. And there is a familiar looking brunette at his side.

"That's Callie Torres," she states the obvious to Meredith. "Are they...you know." She gestures vaguely.

"What?" Meredith asks. "Oh! No. The gay took. She never went back, as far as I know. They're just friends, Lex."

Lexie nods, knowing that Mark and Callie's version of friendship often included side benefits, but choosing not to get into it, because really, it doesn't matter anyway. It's none of her business. She's only here for a week. She has no idea if he has even the slightest bit of interest in her anymore. And while she's no stranger to week long (or shorter) flings, it could never be just a fling with Mark. So it doesn't matter if he's with Callie or someone else or a million someone elses, because he's not with her. He can't be with her. He'll never again be with her. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It does not matter.

As she watches, the pair walks over to the bar and greets Derek. After a few words between them that she's too far away to hear, she sees all three of them glance in her direction. Callie catches her watching and inclines her head slightly. Mark's eyes land somewhere above her head and she looks away just as Derek is clapping his friend on the shoulder and walking towards their table.

"You've got him a little freaked out, you know," Derek remarks, as he deposits their drinks on the table.

Her mouth drops open. "What? Mark? How do you know? Did he say something about me?" she demands, questions tumbling from her mouth as fast as her lips can form them, which is still slower than her mind is screaming them.

Derek, who probably regretted having opened his mouth as soon as he saw her reaction and felt the _shut the hell up_ vibes Meredith was emanating from across the table, only shrugs.

_She_ has _him_ freaked out? She's not quite sure what to make of that. But she knows one thing. She has no intention of spending the rest of her holiday wondering how, why, or whether he is freaked out. She needs to know.

Lexie stands, picks up her vodka and cranberry juice and drains it in one gulp. Setting the glass back down on the table, she walks over to where Mark and Callie have just sat down.

"Hey Callie," she says before turning to Mark. "Can I, uh, can I talk to you for a second?"

Mark hesitates then rises and follows her to an empty booth. She slides in, wishing she had stopped at the bar for another drink first, but knowing that even the slightest delay could cause her to lose her nerve.

Mark is watching her, slumped in the booth, seemingly relaxed and little bit insolent, but she (still) knows him too well. He's coiled tightly, his nerves and muscles both acting like springs under pressure, not knowing what to expect from her.

"So I'm about to completely embarrass myself here," she begins. "But I have to know. Are you over me? Because I thought I was over you. I mean, come on, right? It's been years. Five. Five years to be exact, and I've dated other people. A lot of other people. I'm sure you have to, because you're Mark Sloan and that's what you do. Well, not date exactly, but you...see... other people. I've dated other people; I'm even dating one now, kind of. Not really. But then I saw you at the mall and all of a sudden, I wasn't over you so much anymore. Are you over me? I...I have to know." She stops, out of breath, and bites her lip, waiting for a reaction.

Mark straightens up in his seat. His eyes soften. "Oh. Little Grey, I..." He reaches out and runs the knuckle of his index finger along the side of her cheek. Her breath catches in her throat.

His hand drops away. "I have to go."

She watches, speechless, as he stands and walks quickly to the exit. He pauses, just for a second, hand on the door, but before she can even tamp down on the hope welling up in her heart, he pushes his way through the door and out into the cold December night.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Merry Christmas Everyone!**

* * *

On Christmas morning, Mark wakes up to a four ("four and a _half_, Grampie!) year old tornado blowing through his bedroom.

"Grampie, wake up! Santa was here!" Sammy scrambles up onto his bed and starts pulling at the arm Mark has slung firmly across his eyes.

"Did he bring me coffee?" he asks, hopefully.

"No! Silly Grampie, he brought presents!" The excitement in the boy's voice is contagious and so he allows Sammy to pull his arm away from his face and he opens one eye.

"Presents, you say?"

"Yessss! Get up, get up, get up!" Sammy punctuates each reiteration with an increasingly harder bounce on the bed.

"Okay, okay. I'm getting up." Satisfied, Sammy jumps down from the bed, lands on the floor in a loose-boned heap, and is up and out of sight down the hall before Mark has even untangled his legs from the bedding.

By the time he makes it downstairs, Sammy is practically vibrating with joy and anticipation. Unable to contain himself, he's running in circles around the kitchen island. Quite accustomed to this sight, Mark dodges around him and proceeds to the coffee maker he'd programmed the night before to brew its liquid bliss at dawn that morning.

"Hey, Sam. Look. Santa did bring me coffee," he says, gesturing to the pot.

"Yay, yay, yay!" Can I have some?"

"No way, sport. You're wired enough already. How's about a glass of milk and some toast instead?"

Once breakfast has been accomplished, Mark refills his coffee cup and allows Sammy to dive into his huge pile of gifts. After snapping a few pictures of his grandson with the fire truck Santa promised him, he settles back on the sofa. Sipping his coffee, his mind drifts back to the previous evening. To Lexie. When she first said those astonishing words, _I'm not over you_, his heart had soared and he'd wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to pull her into his arms and forget she'd ever left.

But that was just it. She left.

He sorely regrets having run out on her. In fact he'd regretted it as soon as he was on his feet, but his fear and his dumb-assed pride kept him from taking a deep breath and sitting back down to answer her question. But while walking out was a shitty thing to do and completely unfair to her, he still can't get past the feeling that her bringing up the topic in the first place was a little bit unfair to him.

The anger he'd worked up on his drive home last night begins to bubble up again in his stomach.

He's not the one who left five years ago. That was all her. Her decision. They'd been having problems, yes. Serious problems, but they had been a far sight from resolved and she up and fucking _left_. What right did she have to bring up those old feelings again?

"Grampie!" Sammy shouts, waving an action figure encased in enough heavy duty plastic packaging to bring tears to Al Gore's eyes. "Open this!" Mark shakes himself back to the present and walks over to sit on the floor with his grandson.

"Open this, what?" he corrects, beginning to wrestle with the package as Sammy adds an impassioned 'please!'

* * *

Lexie awakens early on Christmas morning; the ghostly green numbers on the bedside alarm clock tell her it's just after six a.m. As a child she had always been the first one up on Christmas morning, the one to wake the rest of the household in her excitement. It was a habit that continued into adulthood, aside, of course, from the years she'd spent Christmas morning in surgery. This is the first year out of the last several that she hasn't been working and she briefly contemplates getting up, tuning into some Christmas carols on the radio, and making breakfast for Meredith and Derek. But then, like the Grinch creeping into Whoville under the cover of night, the memories from the previous evening creep into her mind and steal her budding holiday spirit. Tears prickling her eyes, she pulls the covers more tightly around her shoulders and curls herself up into a tight little ball.

When she surfaces again, it's nearly ten o'clock. Rubbing her gritty eyes, she yawns and then pushes back the covers. Her head is pounding and as she shoves her feet into her slippers, she vows to lay off the booze for awhile, knowing all along that she's kidding herself. If she ever needs a drink in her life, she knows it'll be tonight when Mark is sitting across the table from her, looking like home after a long trek through the wind and snow. Home, but with the door locked up tight and her without a key.

Her cheeks flame in embarrassment at the thought of facing him again after the fool she'd made of herself last night, but if she's going to make it through this day, she's just going to have to pretend the whole thing never happened. Don't talk about it; don't think about it. Just. Don't.

After visiting the bathroom to splash water on her face and down a handful of over the counter painkillers, she wanders downstairs in her pyjamas, enticed by the combined scent of cinnamon, vanilla, coffee, and bacon that is wafting up the stairs. She finds her sister and brother-in-law in the kitchen, where the three of them exchange good mornings: Derek's good-humoured, Meredith's sleepy, her own a wordless nod. Derek is tucking into a plate of syrup-soaked French toast and a pile of bacon while Meredith is sipping black coffee from a large mug festooned with shiny stars and boughs of holly. Looking from one of them to the other, she decides she'll land somewhere in the middle of the two breakfast extremes. Folding a slice of French toast around two pieces of bacon, she pours herself a cup of coffee and joins them at the table.

They linger over breakfast. Meredith and Derek banter back and forth across the table, making wildly inappropriate guesses about what their Christmas stockings might contain, while she alternates between staring out the window at the lightly falling snow and trying to put on a festive face and join in the chatter. But even to her own ears, her holiday cheer rings false.

"Lexie." Meredith pronounces, suddenly setting her coffee cup on the table with a thump. "Stop moping. You're ruining Christmas."

"Meredith," Derek begins, but his wife interrupts him.

"No, Derek. She is." Her sister turns back to face her. "You made a mistake. You were embarrassed. It sucks. But it _happens_. To _everyone_."

Lexie drops her head onto her folded arms. "I know," she says, her voice muffled. Raising her head again, she adds, "But it's Mark. And, I don't know, I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I had this fantasy that if we ever ran into each other again, that things would just...go back to the way they were, you know?" She drops her head back down, clunking it on the table. "God, I'm such an _idiot_!"

Meredith places a comforting hand on her back. "You're not an idiot. Or at least you're not any more of an idiot than anyone else who is still in love with their ex."

And while she wishes like hell she could, Lexie can't even deny it.

* * *

"Vroom, vroom, vroom," Sammy shouts, bouncing up and down on his knees and pushing buttons randomly on his game controller. "Kaboom!" he crows as his virtual car crashes into a virtual wall.

Mark cheers and high-fives the little boy, taking joy from the fact that Sammy couldn't care less that he's not winning, he's just thrilled to be playing. "Good one, sport!"

Mark has spent the day trying his best to focus on having fun with Sammy, but his traitorous mind keeps coming back to Lexie. His emotions are all over the place, veering wildly between anger at her for even speaking to him, to jealousy over the apparent multitudes of dates she's been on over the last few years while he'd all but become a monk, to hope that maybe, through some kind of Christmas miracle, they could find their way back to each other.

Because the sad truth is, the answer to her question is a resounding 'no'. He isn't over her. Not by a long shot. Seeing her again had made that fact abundantly clear. But really, what does it even matter? He's not over her; she's not over him. How can talking about that fact possibly do anyone any good? She still lives on the other side of the country. And he still has Sammy to think about.

But the fact remains, she deserves an answer. He just needs to decide whether it should be a truthful one or a white lie to spare them both a lot of heartbreak.

He guesses he'll know when the words come out of his mouth.

"Come on sport," he says, looking at his watch. "It's time to go to Uncle Derek and Aunt Meredith's house for dinner."


	5. Chapter 5

She thinks she's prepared for the moment he walks in the door. She's wearing a new red dress she'd picked up at the mall just for this occasion and she knows it looks fabulous on her. Her hair is freshly washed and curling slightly at the ends and she has applied her makeup carefully, highlighting the brown eyes he'd commented on so many times in the past. She'd finished two glass of rum and eggnog while she dressed (yeah, the vow of sobriety lasted just about as long as she'd expected it would) and her nerves aren't protesting quite as loudly as they had been earlier in the day. In fact, now that people have begun to arrive for dinner, she's surprised herself by actually having fun catching up with old friends. So, she thinks she's prepared.

Naturally, she's wrong again.

She's chatting with Miranda Bailey and working on her third rum and eggnog, when a cold draft alerts her to the fact that the front door has opened. Glancing up anxiously, she sees Sammy enter first with Mark close behind. He's smiling, eyes shining with pride as Sammy shows Derek the bright red fire truck he's carrying. It's almost as big as he is.

"Grey!"

She becomes aware of Bailey speaking her name loudly and waving a hand in front of her face.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Bailey," she says, mentally shaking herself. "I spaced out there for a second. What were you saying?"

Miranda has turned around and noted Mark's arrival. "Uh-huh," she says, turning back around. "Well I think I'll just go get myself a drink…"

"No!" Lexie interjects quickly. "No, don't leave me!" She reaches out and grabs the other woman's arm to prevent her from rising. "Please," she adds quietly. "I can't be sitting here all alone and pathetic when he notices me."

Bailey grumbles, but stays in her seat.

"He's looking this way," Lexie hisses. "Laugh! Laugh like I just told you a really funny story."

"Ha," Bailey says, flatly at first and then with forced enthusiasm as Lexie looks at her pleadingly. "Ha, ha, ha. That's…uh….that's really funny, Grey." She grimaces and shakes her head, sliding out of her chair and walking off in the direction of the kitchen.

"Wait, Dr. Bailey, I…oh, never mind," she finishes crossly. So much for that plan. Across the room Mark is just handing his leather jacket to Derek, who walks off, presumably to add it to the growing pile on the sofa in the den. She quickly scans the room for someone else to talk to. She has the choice of Alex Karev, who is on the couch, whispering in the ear of some redhead she doesn't know; Cristina and Owen Hunt, who appear to be in the midst of some sort of disagreement; and Chief Webber who is standing off by himself, reading the titles of the books on the bookshelf by the window. The Chief it is, she decides, grabbing another glass of rum and eggnog from a tray of them on her way by.

She walks up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. "Hi. Hi, Dr. Webber. Remember me?" she asks when he turns around.

"Lexie! Lexie Grey. Of course I remember you. Meredith told me you were flying out for the holidays." The older man smiles at her broadly. "How are you? How are things at Mass General?"

"Oh, you know…" she begins, carrying on making small talk about this doctor and that surgery with the Chief, but she's only participating in the conversation with about a third of her brain. The other two thirds are watching Mark. He picks up his own glass of eggnog from the tray and joins the Hunts while Sammy attaches himself to Dr. Bailey's son. She's too far away to hear what Owen says to Mark that causes him throw his head back in laughter, but her heart clenches at the sight.

When Cristina shakes her head at the two laughing men and walks off to the kitchen, Lexie excuses herself and follows, taking the long way around through the back hallway rather than crossing the living room in front of Mark.

In the kitchen she finds Derek and Dr. Bailey helping Meredith put the food in serving dishes while Cristina samples the gravy.

Sighing dramatically, she falls into a kitchen chair.

"Look everyone," Meredith announces. "Lexie is sighing dramatically. Does anyone want to ask her what's wrong?"

"No!" Bailey and Cristina answer in unison, with Cristina continuing without pause, "The gravy needs more pepper, Mer."

Derek rolls his eyes at the women and slides into a chair beside Lexie. "What's wrong, Little Grey?"

She smiles gratefully at the kind, patient look on her brother-in-law's face, but the women's reactions have already given her the bit of perspective she needed. _Not everything is about you, Lex_, she reminds herself.

"Nothing, I'm fine. What can I do to help, Mer?"

* * *

Dinner is easier than he expected it to be. He has Sammy to look after on one side of him, Karev to goad on the other side and Karev's date to charm from across the table. Lexie is all the way at the other end of the table, surrounded by Meredith, the Chief and Miranda Bailey. He scarcely even notices her, really.

And she certainly doesn't seem to be paying any attention to him, either. She's spent most of the meal chattering away to those around her, sipping her wine and barely picking at her food. She laughs heartily at something the Chief says, and then gestures broadly with the hand that is holding her glass of wine. Several drops splash over the edge of the glass and land on her plate of turkey and vegetables, but she doesn't appear to notice.

"Grampie," Sammy whispers, pulling on his sleeve. The boy gets shy around large groups of people, a stark contrast to the noisy whirlwind he is when he and Mark are alone.

"What is it, sport?" Mark leans down so he can hear Sammy's quiet voice over the general din of the room.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

It's no surprise, really. Mark had made the mistake of letting him go to town on the candy Santa had left in his stocking instead of putting it away to be doled out a bit at a time.

"You can take him into the den and put the television on for him," Derek, who has overheard this exchange, offers. Hearing this, Miranda's boy Tuck immediately asks to be excused as well.

With the two kids trailing after him, Mark goes into the den and finds a channel airing The Santa Clause for them to watch.

"I'll be right in the other room if you need anything, sport," he tells Sammy, who is laying on the floor, already enthralled in the movie and not listening to his grandfather.

"Don't worry Dr. Sloan, I'll look after him," Tuck pipes up from his spot on Derek's lazyboy.

"Thanks, my friend. I owe you one," Mark grins and leaves them to their movie.

In no hurry to get back to the crowded and noisy dining room, he walks over to the large living room picture window. It's dark now, but it had been a clear, sunny afternoon, the warmth melting away the little bit of snow they'd received earlier. The stars are shining brightly now and he tries to spot Orion but he never was very good at picking out constellations.

Movement off to the side catches his attention and for the first time, he notices a small dark figure curled up on the porch swing. Squinting into the night, he realizes it's Lexie. She has the throw from the couch wrapped around her thin shoulders, a pair those tall boots that look like sweaters on her feet, and she's holding a glass of wine. The swing drifts slowly back and forth of its own accord as her feet are curled under her rather than touching the ground.

His stomach flips over, but really, he won't get a better chance than this. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he pauses at the door, thinking about what he'll say. Seems it's not really a hard decision after all, so he pulls open the door and steps out onto the porch.

Her head whips around. "Mark," she says uncertainly, "Hi, I was just…"

"Getting some air," he finishes for her. "Yeah. Me too. It's a little claustrophobic in there."

She murmurs softly, something meant to indicate agreement, and he walks over and sits beside her on the swing. He realizes suddenly that, as many times as he's been to this house, he's never sat in the swing before. He imagines the view in the daylight must be spectacular. Now, in the dark, he can't see much of anything. Except for the stars, and the woman beside him, which, he supposes, are probably view enough.

_Now or never, Mark._

"No," he says, softly, but firmly.

She looks over at him, eyes confused. "What?"

"No. The answer to your question. It's no. I'm not. I'm not over you, Little Grey. Jesus," he swears softly, running a hand roughly through his hair before continuing. "I don't know where that leaves us, or if it even matters anymore, but I wanted to answer your question. The answer is no."

He trails off, eyes on the sky above them. He thinks maybe he can see Orion now. He can't chance looking at her, or he'll lose it again.

He feels a small hand, warm against his cold skin, come to rest on top of his.

"It matters," she says.

He turns his hand over and laces his fingers through hers.

They sit in silence, watching the stars.


	6. Chapter 6

They stay there for nearly half an hour before the cold night air finally drives them back inside. At first, they say little; the whole of their communication is the slight stroking of her thumb by his. Words, when they come, are insignificant on the surface: queries about work and family, stories of common acquaintances. To an uninformed listener, it would seem like small talk at its finest, but both participants know the words themselves aren't important; it's what they represent.

Hope.

They separate when they re-enter the house, with Mark going to check on Sammy while Lexie returns to the dining room in search of pie.

Meredith catches her eye as she reclaims her seat, but Lexie only shrugs and picks up her fork. It's too soon to discuss this turn of events with anyone; she hasn't yet processed how she feels about it herself, and in any event, now is not the time or place.

The pie, baked by Miranda Bailey, is pumpkin with just the right amount of spice, topped with whipped cream. It's delectable, but unfortunately for Lexie, she's far too distracted to even taste it.

* * *

It's a fun evening, one of those nights where the perfect combination of food, drink and company is found and everything just _works_. Petty grievances and past slights are set aside, hospital politics are left at the hospital, and everyone present takes a moment to appreciate just how lucky they are to have such good people in their lives.

After dinner, the adults assembled exchange a few presents amongst themselves, and most of them have brought a little something for the two children in attendance. Derek, after a few glasses of spiked eggnog, brings out his old college guitar and the room fills with cheerily off-key Christmas carols.

Sammy falls asleep on the floor of the den around eight, and Mark reluctantly prepares to leave until Meredith convinces him to instead carry the child upstairs to sleep in the vacant guestroom. Following his relocation the remaining adults move to the den and by eleven o'clock, the party is winding down. All the other guests have left. Derek is half asleep, sprawled in his lazy boy with his eyes closed, though still contributing occasionally to the conversation and Meredith is cross-legged on the floor in front of the stereo, playing DJ. She's moved past Christmas carols and for the last half hour has been favouring slow bluesy jazz numbers. Mark and Lexie are on opposite ends of the sofa, but somehow that hasn't prevented the occasional grazing of hands.

He's stayed far later than he intended to, hoping for another chance to talk privately with her. But now, as he looks around and realizes he's the only one left in attendance who isn't going to be sleeping there, it seems unlikely that chance is going to come.

He clears his throat. "It's getting late. I'll just go get Sam and we'll be on our way." Suddenly tired, he pushes his hand hard against the arm of the sofa as he rises.

"Leave him Mark," Derek suggests from the easy chair. "Come back in the morning for him."

He considers this, and then shakes his head. "He'll be scared, waking up alone in a strange place." The idea of his little boy alone and scared in an unfamiliar room is far more unpleasant than the thought of the tears that may come from waking him now. He'll be asleep again anyway, five minutes after the car starts moving.

"Or you could stay too," Lexie suggests. Mark's mouth drops open and Meredith, well aware of the currents running between her sister and husband's best friend, chortles in amusement. Looking from one of them to the other, Lexie blushes. "In the _guestroom_, guys. Mark could stay in the guestroom with Sammy. There's a big bed in there," she adds defensively.

"Oh," Mark says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, yeah. That would be good. If that's okay with you guys," he adds, turning to Derek and Meredith.

"Of course," Meredith says, rising. "You know you're always welcome. Come on old man," she says, poking her husband. Bedtime. Lexie, can you get Mark anything he needs? Blankets, a glass of water, a warm body on a cold night…"

He catches her winking at Lexie as she follows Derek up the stairs.

"So…" Lexie says once they're alone. "Do you need anything? Cause if you're good then I'm just going to go…" she trails off and gestures vaguely toward the staircase.

He considers this for a second then grins. "Yeah, now that you mention it, there is this one thing I need…"

* * *

He's doing it again. He's got that same look on his face that left her gasping for breath at the mall a couple of days ago. It's characterized by a certain gleam in his eye that tells her he's remembering all the intimate things they'd once done together. And now, damnit, he's making her think about all those same things: the kisses, the touches, the pleasure they'd given each other. No one, before or since, has ever been able to make her feel the way Mark did. It wasn't just that he was technically skilled, which of course, he was. It was the bond between them that made everything so much more intense.

Their eyes connect and she can feel the heat rising in her body, starting with a tingling in her toes and ending with the flushing of her cheeks. And in between, every erogenous zone she possesses has started humming.

And just like that, the nerves that had calmed somewhat following their moment alone outside are back in full force.

"There…there is?" she stutters. _Don't ask, Lex,_ she tells herself. _Don't ask. _"Wh…what would that be?" she asks. _Idiot!_

She holds her breath as he takes a step forward and opens his arms. "Come here, Little Grey."

And then, without ever having made a conscious choice, she's in his arms. _Home_, she feels more than thinks. _This is home_. She sighs, feeling all the tension leave her body as she rests her cheek against his chest. Beneath his sweater, his heartbeat pounds, strong and fast in her ear. Her arms are around his waist, his arms cross over her back and one hand is stroking her hair.

"I miss you, Lex." His voice is low and she can feel the vibration of it against her cheek. She tightens her grip around his waist.

"I miss you too," she confesses. Then, pulling away slightly so she can look up at him, she adds, "This is bad, isn't it?"

He chuckles softly, "Yeah. It's bad. But in a good kind of way."

When he brushes her bangs out of her eyes and then leans down to press his lips against hers, she forgets why exactly she ever thought it was bad. There's nothing bad about this. This…this is all kinds of good. Her arms leave his waist and move up to cradle his face. Scraping her fingers against his rough stubble, her mouth opens to his probing tongue and she darts her own forward to invite his in. She feels his hands sliding up and down her back over her silky dress, each down stroke getting closer and closer to her ass until eventually they come to rest there, holding her tight against him.

He starts walking then, moving them along until the backs of her knees meet the couch. Automatically, she starts to sit, but he stops her, turning them around so he can sit first, then pulling her down to straddle him. She rests her forehead against his and tries to catch her breath, but he has other ideas. Sliding his hands along her bare thighs under her dress, he leans forward to kiss his way up her neck. She shivers and tilts her head to the side, leaning into his caress.

She could stay this way forever.

Except, of course, she can't.

"Mark," she says and it comes out sounding more like a moan than a request for him to stop. A minute passes before she tries again. "Mark." Reluctantly, she pulls away and looks down at him.

His eyes are hooded in arousal. "Hmm," he half-growls, craning his neck to try and reach her lips.

"I have to go back tomorrow," she says sadly.

"What? No," he shakes his head. "Unacceptable." He leans forward, tries to kiss her again, but she can't allow it. Resting her hands lightly against his chest, she holds him in place.

"My flight, it's at noon. I have to work on Monday. I…"

He reaches out and rests a finger on her lips to silence her. "Stay, Lexie. Stay at least until New Year's. We can figure this out. I know in here," he says, putting his hand over his heart, "if we can just start the year together, we can figure the rest of this out. I don't know how, but we can. This is real. This is important. Stay, Lex. Stay 'til New Year's. Please."

His gaze is strong and steady. Slowly, his finger drops away from her lips.

God, she loves this man. If she stays, even for a couple more days, she doesn't know how she'll ever leave.

But in the end, it's an easy decision.

"Okay. Okay, I'll stay."

The End

**

* * *

**

A/N: What happens after New Years? Well, I'll leave that up to your imaginations. Thank you for reading :)


End file.
